Yesterday I drove 40 minutes to watch Monty play Lacrosse in Mooresville. I sat next to a loud-mouth who wouldn’t stop bad-mouthing our team and our coach the whole time, a prime example of one reason I don’t like sports: They seem to attract this type.
Also, they’re boring. Mind-numbing.
Monty played about ten minutes in the first game, and I missed five of them because I was reading Sartre.
In the hour between the games I lay in the dry grass and let him sit in my chair, because he was tired, and I stared at the trees and wondered how I came to be here and why.
In the second game, he played quite a bit and I saw all of it. I watched how he kept his head up, went where he was supposed to go, did what he was supposed to do. Nothing flashy, just a kid doing his best, listening to his coach, and looking out for his teammates.
On the way home he played Taylor Swift and Bruce Mendes on Youtube through the car speakers and I listened to it all because I got it figured out, why I went, why I sat through it all. It’s not because I love sports (I don’t), not because I had to (I didn’t), not because I’m a great mom (ha).
I did it because I’m keenly aware that not everybody gets to spend an afternoon with their 14-year-old, not everyone gets to watch their baby grow up. Some people would trade almost anything for an afternoon like mine, and by gum if I won’t be grateful for it.